


vassal

by stolashoots



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions, Pocket Monsters: Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon | Pokemon Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon Versions
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Team Rainbow Rocket (Pokemon), aether paradise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolashoots/pseuds/stolashoots
Summary: Cyrus may be a sun, but he is only one of many stars, and even the trillion of stars in this galaxy must rotate around a central axis./Nine years after creating his perfect world, Cyrus is stolen away from the Other Place and dropped into Paradise. Giratina follows./A character study of a Cyrus who achieved what he desired, and in the process, destroyed everything worth living for. Alola is a second chance he's never before been offered.
Relationships: Akagi | Cyrus & Giratina
Comments: 40
Kudos: 62





	1. rise

The sunrise along the Alola sea is… ineffable. Even while trapped in the cold, familiar steel walls of Aether Paradise, the natural awe of the sight stuns him. The stars, brighter than they ever were in the light-polluted region of Sinnoh, fade as the sky fills with orange and red and pink and purples and –

This world is populated by duality. Lugia and Ho-Oh. Cresselia and Darkrai. Zekrom and Reshiram. Xerneas and Yveltal. Solgaleo and Lunala. Arceus and Giratina. The Distortion and this sunrise. There is no light in the Other Place, and without light, there is also no darkness. It exists in a state of _nothingness_ , empty of the physical yet filled with the metaphysical.

Cyrus closes his eyes and tilts his head up, basking in the warmth as trillions of energetic little photons tickle his skin. His cellular DNA is likely breaking thanks to the fury of ultraviolet radiation, but he can’t bring himself to care. He breathes in the humid salty sea air and reminisces on his childhood in Sunyshore City. Those days, all that mattered to little Cyrus was the speed necessary to travel to the library and back before his parents noticed his absence. His entire future was paved in front of him. All he had to do was be the perfect student, the perfect son, and he will find money and happiness.

What a joke. Cyrus fucked his entire life over and he’s ‘happier’ than he ever would be fulfilling his parent’s desires. Twenty-seven (or is he thirty-six now?) and he’s already succeeded in his life goal, held control over five different legendary Pokémon, and erased his entire universe. Thirty-six (but with only the experiences of twenty-seven) and Cyrus is at a standstill. If not for Aether Foundation’s experimentation with alternate dimensions, Cyrus would remain in the Distortion until Giratina decided otherwise.

**a red-hot ball of light rising across a molten horizon, dust and ash as thick as a deathly snowstorm, the heat rising and rising and rising until the air burns as hot as the Earth’s crust, empty and lonely and vast, a Hell that will one day be populated, but right now it is nothing but another burnt planet drifting through space, searching, searching, but never finding**

Cyrus watches as the sun rises into the heavens until his eyes burn and his skin prickles from that daytime Alola heat. The inky black night sky splits to reveal a kaleidoscope of colors before settling on a deep blue that reflects the still ocean.

He only returns into the bright, white, gilded cage of the Paradise to flee the warmth his Sinnoh-grown body is unaccustomed to. The glorified grunts, rip-off Rangers if anyone was to ask him, shepherd Cyrus back to his rooms for the time being. All of the other so-called ‘Bosses’ have yet to awaken.


	2. supernova

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn are all alive here. They aren’t the same as the people Cyrus grew fond of, and the Cyrus they know and trust is forever lost.

Mars and Saturn would have admired Rainbow Rocket. They would have loved the ridiculous uniforms and the dedicated underlings and the metallic contraptions of this floating city. Jupiter would have appreciated the tidy laboratories, but she also wouldn’t let her emotions show. She would have stuck her nose up at the state-of-the-art hard drives and software and demanded a budget increase.

Saturn and Jupiter and Mars. His three loyal planets, forever revolving around their Sol, their Cyrus. They believed in him up to the end, either ignoring all of the signs or not caring if Cyrus was leading them to their deaths. The last night of their existence, Saturn apologized to Cyrus for not being better. Jupiter signed and ruffled his hair and told him to keep facing forward. Mars collapsed to her knees and hugged him around the waist and _cried_ and _cried_ and _cried_ until she ran out of tears. When she finally got back up, her bloodshot red eyes were filled with emotion Cyrus was incapable of understanding.

They ceased to exist just like every other living being. It was better that way, he had convinced himself. They would have only suffered in the Other Place. It was a burden Cyrus shouldered, and he wasn’t selfish enough to drag them down as well.

Cyrus tries not to think of his commanders as he watches the Aether grunts scramble in Lusamine’s turbulent wake. He doesn’t miss them insomuch as he misses their convenience and convictions. They were good to him, more so than he ever deserved.

He’s empty in a place deep within him that was once filled with pride. He was there when Mar’s overfed glameow finally evolved into a purugly that was equally fat as fluffy. He was there when Saturn sold his first solar generator. He was there when Jupiter discovered the exact depth of the sunken caves the Lake Guardians slumbered in.

He would describe the relationship he shared with his commanders as being neither between that of a parent and child nor as friends. The only similar emotions he can connect with was when he trained his Pokémon. Every time they learned a new move or defeated another in battle, Cyrus experienced a swelling of pride at helping them reach greatness. _His_ Pokémon. _His_ commanders.

And Cyrus was Helios, the Sun guiding his planets through the endless void of this godforsaken universe.

And like every other star, he was destined to supernova. He vaporized everything and everyone in his path until only Giratina witnesses the coming destination.

And like every other star, there are two final outcomes to this story. Alone and broken, Cyrus can implode on himself. He can drag down this new world with him, and then travel through the Ultra Wormhole to rend every other dimension until nothing is left. Not Giratina, not Arceus, not even Cyrus himself as the wrath of the black hole finally subsides. He can create Perfection.

Or Cyrus can transform. He can draw in the ruined bits and pieces of himself and glue the shards back together. He can accept that he will never return to the power her once knew. He can accept that any future of glory will never amount to how bright he glowed while building Galatic up. Like a neutron star, Cyrus can reform and readjust and remain.

It is not ideal, but the longer Cyrus stays out of the Distortion, the more he grows to appreciate life. He’s still surrounded by imbeciles and (temporarily) forced to work for Aether. Interpol will be after him as soon as they realize that a Cyrus has returned. His crimes will one day catch up with him, and Cyrus will face the punishment he deserves, the punishment that the Cyrus from this world ran from.

Cyrus is finished running. He’s already deathly aware that Giratina will follow him to the ends of the Earth and beyond; there is no escaping the God Cyrus pledged himself to. All mortals pale in comparison.

Mars. Saturn. Jupiter. Cynthia. Dawn. Lucas. Berry. The Pokémon team the other Cyrus abandoned. Uxie. Mesprit. Azelf. Mother. Father. Grandfather.

The list grows with every passing second that he remains here in the Other reality. At least while he was in the Distortion, Cyrus was incapable of hurting anyone else.

Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn are all alive here. They aren’t the same as the people Cyrus grew fond of, and the Cyrus they know and trust is forever lost. Cyrus wears the Other’s body, but he is not the Other. They won’t be able to understand that. No one who hasn’t experienced the Distortion, or perhaps the Ultra Wormhole, can comprehend what Cyrus lived through. Why he is the person who he came to be.

“Akagi.”

Cyrus suppresses a sigh and tilts his head to signify he’s listening.

“Lusamine’s looking for you. Said you haven’t turned in your report yet.” Giovanni keeps his posture relax and an open smile on his face. Aether grunts might swoon for his theatrics, but Cyrus knows better. The gang leader’s eyes are cold and calculating as he scrutinizes Cyrus.

Anyone capable of taking over a world is willing to lie, cheat, and murder to get what they want. Cyrus knows this firsthand, and he’s surrounded himself with the conquerors of worlds.

Cyrus may be a sun, but he is only one of many stars, and even the trillion of stars in this galaxy must rotate around a central axis.


	3. rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus has no more control over Giratina than a starly attempting to overpower a tornado, but he has its favor and interest.
> 
> No one in the history of time has ever achieved such a feat. Not Cynthia and her talent with taming dragon types. Not Dawn with her power of friendship and bullheadedness. Only quiet, freakish Cyrus.

Cyrus escaped the Distortion when he was stolen away by the Ultra Wormhole, but the Distortion never left Cyrus. He existed within it for so long that it has become a necessary part of him. To sever it would be to eradicate Cyrus himself.

Giratina haunts him from the Parallel World. There is no escaping the being, not that Cyrus would ever try. He dedicated his life to capturing Giratina; Cyrus isn’t going to tarnish this connection for anything. Cyrus has no more control over Giratina than a starly attempting to overpower a tornado, but he has its favor and interest.

No one in the history of time has ever achieved such a feat. Not Cynthia and her talent with taming dragon types. Not Dawn with her power of friendship and bullheadedness. Only quiet, _freakish_ Cyrus.

**a zebstrika puffs out hot steam as it stomps the ground, its shiny black hooves as dangerous as steel tearing up the turf, flashes of sparks flying off its muscular thighs, the scent of searing ozone in the surrounding air –**

**a girl in a fancy blue dress on a stage, a green poffin in her hands and a beautifly fluttering around her head –**

**a woman this time, her golden hair blinding against her black clothing, the ferocious garchomp flashing its sharp claws –**

Cyrus physically wrenches himself back, a hand going to clutch his shoulder. The wound has long since stitched itself back together, but right now, it burns like it did that day. He can smell the smoke and taste the blood and he’s going to _die_! He’s going to _fucking die_!

Still gripping his sliced flesh, he gropes for honchkrow’s ball, but there’s nothing attached to his belt. All of his Pokémon are missing and he’s all alone as the furious garchomp stomps closer, snarling, Cyrus’ blood glinting on its claws. Cynthia barks out a command and it lunges at him, going for his throat, not hesitating to exact revenge –

“Cyrus? Are you –“

Cyrus leaps out of his chair, blinking as Maxie’s professional façade shatters to reveal absolute bafflement. Maxie reaches his hand out as if to steady Cyrus, but thinks better of it and slowly retracts and sits back down. Making himself smaller, less of a threat, as if Cyrus is a wild animal.

He breathes in, then out. He calms his racing heart, reminding himself of where he is. Aether unnerves him, but it’s safe. Cynthia is thousands of miles away in Sinnoh, Interpol hasn’t caught onto Lusamine’s plan, and he’s too innocuous to have made enemies. Yet, that is, because Maxie still has a weary look on his face.

“…Apologies.” Cyrus straightens and smooths out the nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt. “If possible, I would like to postpone this meeting until tomorrow. Thank you for your consideration.” He doesn’t wait for a response and flees as quickly as socially respectable.

The humid Alola air helps relieve the chills that rake his body. He listens to the gentle waves slapping against the metal edges of the manmade island.

**a lapras shuts its eyes and tilts its head up to the waxing moon, parts its lips and cries out, a lonely, heartfelt perish song flowing from its belly and into the icy cave, reverberating against the walls, echoing out its sorrows**

An apology. Cyrus sighs and wipes a hand against his sweating brow. “You did not know I would react that way.” Human emotions are fleeting and meaningless to a being such as Giratina. Cyrus’ thoughts of Dawn and Cynthia caught Girantina’s interest, and so it asked through the only way it knew how.

**the zebstrika again, only this time its sparks catch flame, its entire body burning reds and oranges until it’s engulfed in a flame charge, transforming into a furious rapidash, head tilt down and leading with its horn**

Giratina repeats the question, then silences as it waits for a reply.

Cyrus thinks it over. “Not angry,” he murmurs, his voice stolen away by the wind and blown out to sea. He doesn’t know how to explain the complicated, churning emotions towards the subject, so he doesn’t try. Girantina wouldn’t be able to understand either way. “I do not regret my actions, but the way things ended was very… _distasteful_.” The word feels off. It’s a massive understatement regarding how Cyrus and Cynthia parted ways, both bloodied and pained and too blinded by hatred to even consider reaching an accord. By then, Cyrus had already soiled his hands for his mission and would never submit.

“It is all in the past. No, none of it ever happened here in this reality. You and I, and perhaps Arceus, are the only two beings who remember it.” Cyrus will never truly answer for his sins. Giratina destroyed the entire reality for Cyrus’ sake; one more death is meaningless compared to the countless others.

It’s as though that day never happened, but he can’t bring himself to forgive his actions, just as he is incapable of casting aside his spirit for the sake of enlightenment. He’s only human, as imperfect as they come.

He closes his eyes and can almost feel the oppressive nothingness of the Distortion swallowing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please consider leaving a review <3<3<3


	4. a vision of lava

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cyrus has a human interaction

Cyrus is lingering by the Keurig, observing how the Aether grunts refill the water and stock it with powder-filled cups, when Maxie approaches. They silently watch empty mugs enter the machine and steaming mugs leave after a little _ding_. The line of waiting grunts shortens every two minutes, but those with coffee remain in the area, chattering to each other and wasting time like all grunts are want to do.

“This,” Maxie begins, “Is the new-age water-cooler. Ingenious, yes? It can make a liter of coffee in under five minutes, and there is an unlimited variation of flavors to choose from. Lusamine insists specialty blends are included, but it’s all Alolan. I found nothing originating from Hoenn, or Sinnoh for that matter…” Maxie wrinkles his nose and adjusts his glasses. Under his breath, he adds, “They don’t even have berries here!”

Thanks to Sinnoh’s policy of cultural isolation and Cyrus missing nine years’ worth of current events, he doesn’t know much about Alola. Giratina was… _thoughtful_ enough to provide Cyrus with a brief history of the island chain a few days after being yanked into this reality, but witnessing the birth of a region through the process of hotspots and volcanic activity, ten million years in fifteen minutes, was both the opposite of enlightening and gave Cyrus a migraine that lasted hours.

He’s pretty sure that Jupiter once ranted about how introducing foreign species to regions can cause an ecological disaster, though. If berries didn’t evolve in Alola, then berries are not meant to be in Alola.

Cyrus doesn’t bring this up. If Maxie doesn’t realize, then it’s his own problem. Cyrus has no interest in carrying a conversation involving more than ‘ _yes’_ , ‘ _no’_ , and ‘ _while the ultra-wormhole transported the six of us to this reality without any visible problems, not enough time has passed to ensure there are no adverse side effects to the stress it put on our bodies. Repeat exposure could lead to devastating impacts on human health, and so I do not recommend it at this moment. The closest comparison we have of extra-dimensional travel is through the international space station and the research astronauts are conducting on their own bodies during their trip and once they return back to Earth. According to NASA, they have found that long-term space travel can lead to the following: An increase of radiation exposure leading to a higher risk of cancer, a deterioration on bone density and muscle mass due to the lack of gravity, compromised immune systems, nutritional deficiencies if not properly monitored, and many, many more consequences that have yet to be discovered…’_ until people get a confused, distant look in their eyes and stop forcing unwanted interaction.

He stares down Maxie, telepathically conveying his absolute lack of interest. It fails.

Maxie clears his throat. “Anyway, I was wondering if you would like to join Archie and I this morning.” He pauses, as if waiting for Cyrus to jump at the chance to involve himself with two relative strangers. When he makes no motion to agree, Maxie continues. “Archie took to borrowing some flippers and goggles, so we’re going to investigate the terrain the Paradise is built on.”

Cyrus blinks. He was expecting more talk about Lusamine’s plans or a sad attempt at getting to know Cyrus better for the sake of learning his weaknesses. This is a legit invitation to conduct, admittedly rudimentary, science. No doubt Cyrus could use Aether’s high-speed internet to find a technical report on the composition of volcanic rock from the Alolan hotspot, but Saturn was always the one gifted in computers and Cyrus is still unfamiliar with new-age technology.

He tilts his head, considering. He isn’t here to make friends, and he knows more than anyone how dangerous gang leaders are. They are coworkers in this strange reality, bonded through Lusamine’s wormhole and their own greed.

**fire consumes as the flow travels, inching along as slow as a slugma, a river of red that rolls over rocks and trees and houses and people, everything in its way melting through its fury as Groudon seethes within the mantel and Moltres spits fire across the mainland and Volcanion flourishes where the lava sears rivers and lakes and oceans in a fit of steam and Heatran sinks itself into the depths of magma-flooded caverns, the living scream and pokemon flee and the ghosts of the world dance in delight as they multiply**

Cyrus closes his eyes and breathes. The hot Alola air soothes the burning in his lungs. He can taste the char in the back of his mouth and he can smell the scent of blood boiling under flayed skin. Groudon is not a god, not like Giratina is, but its volcanic power is unmatched. What must have it been like, the final few days on Hoenn as lava crept closer to civilization? As people realized that there weren’t enough boats to carry everyone to safety? That those closest to the active volcano were likely dead before they even knew an eruption took place?

Giratina’s obliteration was instantaneous. Only Cynthia had an inclination of the coming destruction, and as far as Cyrus is aware, she spent the last hours with her grandmother and little sister in Celestic town. Cyrus is not needlessly cruel. His goal was to end suffering, and so he instructed Giratina to make it quick.

He looks over at Maxie, still stiffly observing the Aether grunts while waiting for Cyrus’ response. If Lusamine is to be believed, then all of the gang leaders here succeeded in their mission. The question is, why would these men, high on power and with the world buckling under their thumb, agree to remain in Aether? Why not pull out their legendary monsters and force Lusamine to return them to their original reality.

Cyrus knows why he hasn’t attempted to tamper with the ultra-wormhole yet, or ask for Giratina to whisk him home and/or also prefect this reality in the process. Is it the same for Maxie? The horrible, unsettling realization that while he doesn’t regret his actions, the Eden that Cyrus wished to create was nothing more than a dream?

“Alright,” Cyrus says, paying attention to the minute details on Maxie’s face as his eyes widen and stress wrinkles relax from the affirmation. “Now?” Faba requested Cyrus to report to the R&D department around noon, so he still has a few hours of free time to spare.

“We agreed to meet up 30 after the hour, at the south-most dock. Do you know of the location?”

Cyrus nods and they part ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl can't decide how to view maxie or archie... RSE? or ORAS? hmm.  
> also why is groudon not a fire type?? why did maxie base his team off of MAGMA if the god he desired wasn't even a fire type???
> 
> thank you for reading, please consider leaving a comment <3<3


	5. a vision of submersion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie makes a discovery. Maxie prevents an ecological catastrophe. Cyrus talks to a fish.

“Don’t you _dare_ , Aogiri Archibald!” Maxie stabs his finger into the air. “Have you even considered how catastrophic introducing a legendary into such a delicate ecosystem could be? Alola isn’t like Hoenn; we’re thousands of kilometers away from the continent!”

“So? You scared to get your feet wet?” Archie still shrinks the netball in his hand. “How’d you even know what I was gonna do?” Archie swaps it for - in Cyrus’ opinion - an identical netball that he tosses to release a sharpedo into the ocean.

“You looked too smug. Just because you’re from a different reality doesn’t mean you’re any different than the Archie I-“ Maxie chokes on his words, fingers sliding down to touch the sixth pokeball attached to his belt. Huh. Cyrus was under the assumption that Maxie only used five pokemon during battle, and he kept his team hidden under that absurd coat at all times, so Cyrus never noticed any difference. Out in the searing Alolan sun, Maxie was sensible enough to shed the coat, though the long-sleeve turtle-neck sweater remains.

Maxie traces over the deep scars carved into the scuffed surface as he finishes his train of thought. “- The Archie from my reality. You just wanted to flaunt Kyogre.”

Archie grunts. He tugs off his shirt – Maxie and Cyrus simultaneously turn their attention to the pelipper and wingull circling above – and sits down with his legs off the side of the dock. He hisses as his skin touches the heated metal. With practiced precision, Archie pulls on the flippers and goggles. The churning ocean water, slapping against the metal pillars holding the Paradise still, hardly ripples as Archie slips into it. The dark outline of Archie connects to the dark outline of his sharpedo before they begin to move.

“Ah,” murmurs Cyrus to himself, “Dive has a purpose in Hoenn.” A shame the same couldn’t be said for Sinnoh, it would have allowed the capture of the lake guardians to proceed smoother. Instead, the Sinnoh League insisted _Defog_ of all moves was worth investing in.

“Yes, but only trainers and the truly desperate ever use it for that purpose.” Maxie wrinkles his nose, “Cultured people take a submarine.”

Cyrus takes a step closer to the edge of the dock and squats. With the bent trajectory of light moving through the water, he’s unable to reliably estimate how far above the seafloor they are. Approximately fifty yards south from the dock, the shimmering, clear turquoise island water turns murky as the ancient volcanic flow ends and the abyssal plain begins.

Salty air fills his lungs. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine standing on the docks of Sunyshore, bare feet dipping into the perpetually chilly water below. Living off the Pacific meant growing up with water types, but Cyrus didn’t capture gyarados until long after he abandoned his hometown. Gyarados is the only pokemon on his team capable of mega-evolution. What a shame he’ll never be able to experience it in action.

“Cyrus?” Maxie is talking again. Cyrus twists around to look up at the man. “I noticed that-“

Ocean water erupts and splashes Maxie as Archie and his sharpedo surface. “HEY! Look what I found!” Sharpedo provides a boost to help Archie drag himself up onto the dock.

“You-!” Maxie gives a frustrated growl as he snatches off his glasses, pulls out a cloth from his pocket, and begins scrubbing his lenses. He backs away as the puddle under Archie grows. “There’s a ladder right over there! Can you _try_ not to be FeebMan for one second?”

Archie mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, _It’s ReliMan!_ before shaking his head, raining droplets that sizzle against the hot metal dock. From below, sharpedo ‘barks’ once before diving back down.

Cyrus stands and shuffles over to inspect the treasure Archie hands over. It’s hand-sized, white, and bumpy. When brought close to the eye, Cyrus sees tiny incisions along the rough surface. He passes it off to Maxie, who foregoes the risk of getting wetter and moves next to Cyrus.

“This isn’t a rock,” Maxie huffs. He presses his thumbnail into the object and scratches, a powdery substance breaking off.

Archie crosses his arms. “Calcium carbonate is a perfectly good mineral if you ask me.”

“I didn’t. Corsola exoskeletons are created using free-floating ions and salts in the water. It’s useless to me.” Maxie waves it in the air. “Get back down there and get me a rock! An actual rocky-rock!”

**a sudden rush of browns and yellows as the sandstorm passes over, carried along with the tides and the currents to eventually be deposited, but right now it is in the air, in the _water_ , as the sediment swirls around the reef; barboach paddle away and shellders propel off and clamperls clam up, but for a corsola, there is no safety as the hurricane hits, no way to flee as grit tears at its arms and scratches its eyes, and the fury builds and builds until nothing can survive the suffocating wrath-**

Cyrus coughs into his fist and bites his lip. He shuts his eyes and reminds himself that he’s above water. The air is clear. He is safe. Cyrus blinks, adjusting to the light after witnessing a first-person account of such a turbulent, devastating event. Giratina remains with him, lazily circling the trio, winding around them as its thin, bug-like legs step along the air.

Giratina elicits the same consuming awe as when he first laid eyes upon its vastness. Something deep within Cyrus, perhaps his Soul or Spirit, stirs as the red chain binding him to the God tugs. It wants something from him. Cyrus peers up into its unblinking eyes, no longer afraid as he once was.

Cyrus speaks up to interrupt Archie and Maxie’s bickering. “Has technology advanced to the point where it’s possible to view ectoplasm under a microscope?” It’s a guess based on the vision Giratina gifted him. Ghosts are weak against themselves. It likely can sense something stirring within the piece of coral, though Cyrus hasn’t clue as to why Giratina is interested.

It rumbles. Cyrus can feel the shudder through his entire existence. And just like that, Giratina silently slips away, returning to the Other Place or somewhere within Cyrus to continue its endless observation over the mortal realm.

Archie and Maxie stare at him, glance at each other, then focus again on Cyrus. Archie speaks first, “Dude, are you okay?”

Cyrus is prepared to brush off the question as he’s become used to after experiencing such visions, but Maxie suddenly yelps and launches the coral into the air. Maxie flails his arms and gracelessly scrambles to catch the coral before it drops, sets it down onto the safety of the dock, and jumps back. “It moved!” He holds out a shaking hand to reveal small red dots in a line across his palm. “It- There’s something in it!”

“A cursola?” Archie squats down and pokes the coral, not learning from Maxie’s mistake. He soon jerks back and squints at the blister forming on the pad of his finger. “No, the exoskeleton is too fresh. It could be a Galarian corsola, however. I know that roughly ten years ago, scientists were trying to identify if Galarians were a different breed, some kind of mutation, a disease, or, well… the spirit of a deceased corsola. Not sure what the outcome was, not with everything,” Archie waves his hand in the air.

“Ah, same with me. Very few reefs remained after,” Maxie grimaces, “so it wasn’t a subject of interest. I’ve been working on catching up on the science of this reality, but I started with geology for obvious reasons. Haven’t even touched anything biological, except for mega-evolution and all of the new species of pokemon.”

Cyrus just shrugs. Neither pays attention to his lack of input.

Maxie rubs his glasses cloth against his hand. Archie snatches it and uses it to pick up the coral. “R&D should have an open lab. If not, then the Aether’s medical center will have supplies.” Archie runs off with the coral, flippers slapping against the metal, shirtless, and dripping wet. Maxie follows, shouting something.

Sharpedo ‘barks’. Cyrus leans over the edge of the dock to see the pokemon. The noise it makes is similar to Cyrus’ houndoom when the dog realizes it can’t follow its trainer into the shower because the bathroom door is closed.

“Sorry,” Cyrus says lamely. If it had legs, he’d lead it to Archie, but fish pokemon are always a pain to deal with outside of battle. “He’ll be back… eventually.” His words don’t help.

“Cyrus! Are you coming?”

He turns and sees Maxie’s red hair all the way at the entrance of the Paradise. He casts a final look back at sharpedo, then hurries to catch up to Maxie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of a mini arc, next i'll move onto a topic I've been thinking about since the start.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please consider leaving a kudos and a comment :)


	6. propostion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cyrus gets caught snooping. giovanni begins a conversation

“What you said a while back, was any of it true?”

Cyrus leaps out of the chair, hand instinctively dropping to his belt, grasping for things that no longer exist. He hunches over the desk. It’s too late, he was already caught; the damage is irreversible. Whatever grunt or scientist found him will no doubt report back to Lusamine and Cyrus will be barred from snooping for the rest of his time at the Paradise.

A heavy hand lands on Cyrus’ shoulder and forces him back down into the chair. The man says, “Calm down; we’re both adults here. That whole curfew thing is for the grunts and kiddos.” Giovanni releases his grip on Cyrus and takes the seat across from him.

Straightening his spine, Cyrus forces himself to relax. Yes, the curfew. That’s what Cyrus is worried about. “…You are correct. Apologies, I am not accustomed to working in such an environment.” At Galactic Energy, he had every reason to be paranoid about all of the information he and his people dug up, and so the labs were locked unless one of his admins were present.

Lusamine either had the luxury of never encountering spies within her ranks or she’s overconfident. A mistake like that will lead to her downfall.

Noting Giovanni’s eyes wandering to the papers on the table, Cyrus flips the binder closed. Drawing the other man’s attention away from the documents will be easy. “I do not know what you are referring to. I have said many things in the past and present.”

Giovanni nods. “You only ever spoke twice at the Rainbow Rocket meetings. First was introductions, and then a few weeks later – not long ago – when talking about further use of the Ultra Wormhole.”

Talking Lusamine down from experimenting with humans was long and difficult. If Cyrus hadn’t studied so much information about space travel before Galactic, he wouldn’t have been prepared for the woman’s rapid-fire questionings and demands. Giratina twirled and chattered like two rocks scraping against one another the entire time. Afterwards, Cyrus locked himself into his bathroom and vomited until only bile and foam remained, his cells blistering and breaking under the siege of radiation, his body lengthening and warping as his muscles melted away and his bones dissolved.

Physical pain suffered from Giratina’s visions were rare. Usually, the uncomfortable sensations faded once he returned to the real world. Emotions are another story entirely, but he’s already spent years ignoring those.

“Well, Agaki? You still with me, Spaceman?” Giovanni snaps his fingers. Two large, blonde paws grab the edge of the table. “Hey! No one’s talking to you, get your dirty feet off.” Giovanni pries persian’s paws off, grumbling as its thick claws dig into the wood and leave tiny indentations. The cat yowls in protest but settles down out of sight.

Cyrus thinks on it. As far as he remembers, he never told an outright lie. The relevancy of the information is questionable, and he has no real knowledge on the Ultra Wormhole besides what he personally experienced. Even then, there is no guarantee that the Distorted World or Giratina itself didn’t affect the process.

“Everything I said was based upon information that existed nine years ago. Until I have researched the subject further, I am unable to determine how accurate it is.” He pauses to ensure Giovanni is paying attention. “I am not a professional, nor do I proclaim to know everything about this. It is entirely possible that the Ultra Wormhole is nothing similar to what I understand of space travel. However, as long as Lusamine continues to request my opinions, I will continue to discourage her about this.”

“Huh. To be honest, I thought you were just stalling for time.” When Giovanni grins, it’s all teeth, like a cat about to pounce. He leans back and crosses his arms across his chest. Cyrus sees blonde ears poking up by Giovanni’s abdomen. Persian must have its head in Giovanni’s lap.

“Pardon?”

“Out of everyone in Rainbow Rocket, you’re the most reluctant to cooperate. Even Ghetsis, who acts like some rabid animal on his good days, is moderately interested in the cause. It just seems to me as though you aren’t committed to all of this,” Giovanni waves his hand in the air. Persian bats at it.

Well. The observation isn’t wrong. “In what way does this matter to you?” Cyrus hasn’t interfered with Rainbow Rocket yet… with the exception of being as unhelpful as humanly possible. Besides that, he’s kept his head down and mouth shut as he adjusted to a reality not controlled by Giratina.

“The team needs a leader. Lusamine is already spreading herself thin between controlling Aether, managing the Paradise, schmoozing with the Alolans and their joke of a League, puppeteering that Skull gang, wrangling her wayward children, and researching the Ultra Wormhole.” He sticks out a finger at each point. Narrowing his eyes in thought, Giovanni drops his hand to pet persain. “She’s intelligent, but she’s not good with people. Eventually, she will crumble under the pressure. If Rainbow Rocket intends to remain a united institution, we need to become independent.”

Cyrus doesn’t reply, not at first. Back in his original reality, Cyrus had studied all of the public exploits Giovanni participated in. Under his iron fist, a relatively unknown yakuza group became the first new-age pokemon gang. Cyrus neither admired Giovanni nor inspired to be like the man. Galactic was of his own creation with a singular goal in mind: to end all suffering.

Team Rocket was, to some people, the source of strife. The only reason why Cyrus never bothered to snuff out the few scattered Rockets in Sinnoh was because they kept the authorities distracted with petty crime. By the time the police realized Galactic was more than a harmless cult, by the time Interpol got involved and the League finally pulled the dodrio’s head out of the ground, the only thing that stood between Cyrus and his dreams was a young, idealistic girl who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

And for that, Cyrus took a page out of Giovanni’s book.

Cyrus takes a deep breath. “You do not need me for this. I will neither hinder your progress nor speak with Lusamine, though because words are little more than sound waves in the form of vibrations of energy traveling through the air, I assume that you already have a way to ensure I do not get involved.” Otherwise, this conversation wouldn’t be taking place.

“Interpol is still searching for the Cyrus of this reality. I’d lose no sleep over tipping them off,” Giovanni agrees. “But if it is possible, I’d rather you remain an ally. You have taken over the world once, Akagi. I have little doubt that you could do it again, assuming you had a reason to become passionate. Ignoring all of your secrets you’ve been hiding–“ Cyrus meets Giovanni’s eyes, “your dedication and intelligence more than makes up for your faults.”

Cyrus has nothing to say to that. He’s unfamiliar with being propositioned to in such a way. Cyrus has always been separate from peers and colleagues, due to his unsociable attitude, obsessive personality, and unwavering stare. Cyrus was _better_ in a way that no one could ever compete in. It left him alone at the top, as cliché as it sounds.

Sitting across from Giovanni, the massive chasm that prevents Cyrus from ever growing close to another human seems a lot more manageable.

Cyrus heaves a sigh and drags the binder closer to him. Further research will have to wait until another night. “I cannot argue with you on that. I am amiable to converse more about this partnership on another day, perhaps when Solgarleo returns to the sky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love the concept of giovanni being a suave mofo, and then he trips on persian


	7. truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they continue the conversation

This reality is filled to the brim with suffering, just like it was in Cyrus’ home. He sees it in the rehabilitated pokemon, rockruffs with amputated paws and lumineons with clipped fins. Pokemon abandoned by their trainers calling out into the night in despair, refusing the comfort of the chansey and blissey working around the clock. He sees it in the Aether grunts, dark bags forming over their eyes, sighing as they murmur about restocking on potions and full heals, their legs bruised and hands shredded yet they continue to coax abused pokemon out of hiding. He sees it in the stiffness of Lusamine’s shoulders – rumor has it that both of her children ran away some months ago and now refuse her attempts at contact. He sees it in the way Maxie slumps when no one’s looking and pulls out the mysterious sixth pokeball.

People and pokemon, all around him, suffering. It hurts to watch, like his lungs being constricted with every unshed tear and remorseful cry. Things were the same in the Sinnoh of his reality: adults working to the bone at dead-end jobs and unwanted children sent off to become trainers and pokemon puppy mills overbreeding to cope with the demands of shitty rich trainers who have never experienced the bond between pokemon and humans. Money was tight for all but the elite few. During the wrath of winter, parents had to choose between feeding their kids or feeding themselves, leave the heat on and get restful sleep or sleep in the cold and save for an emergency. White-outs were particularly dangerous, cloaking the entire region with thick, heavy snow that persisted for weeks. Every spring, routes 216 and 217 thawed to reveal the frozen bodies of pokemon and people, poor souls that ignored the warnings of the locals and weren’t able to reach Snowpoint before their bodies gave out.

Cyrus is inherently a weak, selfish man, crippled from the harsh mistreatment and neglect of his parents and scared by his own pessimism. He decided young that he would make a difference in his world, both to alleviate the strife of the inhabitants of this earth and to prove to himself and his family that he wasn’t a failure, wasn’t a mistake.

From the moment he heard about the creation trio, he knew what must be done. Even if he caused more pain and suffering, he would save this world by destroying it. If nothing exists, then no one can suffer.

Cyrus still believes this, but he’s grown wiser with age and understanding.

It is due to his experiences that he sits across from Giovanni in the grunt cafeteria, tucked away in the corner of the room with a pot of jasmine tea between them.

The tea isn’t fresh, not when everything nonnative must be transported by boat from the mainland, but the watery off-taste is growing on him. He can hardly even remember the taste of freshly brewed tea, only that it soothed his soul. Giovanni pinches his lips and wrinkles his nose after every sip. For a full five minutes, Giovanni adds sugar and milk and berries and extracts to his cup, tweaking the taste of his tea until he finally relents and sets the cup aside.

Giovanni huffs. Cyrus asks, “Would you rather I collect a local beverage?”

“No, thank you.” Giovanni waves a dismissive hand. “Everything they serve here is meant for lowly grunts. Wicke promised some better quality stuff as soon as the next shipment from the mainland arrives.”

It’s a waste of precious space. Thousands of gallons of gasoline are used to power cargo ships, and room aboard is limited. Exotic or not, Japanese tea is not a necessity and therefore shouldn’t be brought over. Cyrus takes a sip from his cooling drink. He keeps his thoughts to himself, recognizing that his opinions are typically unwanted and unvalued.

Cyrus focuses the conversation on the topic. “You wished to speak with me again? Outside of the usual Rainbow Rocket meetings?”

“You are correct. I intend to reinvigorate this team without the guise of pretending to be Lusamine’s bodyguards. Lusamine is studying the Ultra Wormholes for self-centered ideals without looking at the bigger picture. Those pokemon – the Ultra Beasts – aren’t the treasure at the end of the rainbow, other realities are.”

While Giovanni isn’t wrong about Lusamine, Cyrus still hesitates to accept any idea revolving around using the Ultra Wormholes. They are _off_ in a way that Cyrus is incapable of describing, and Cyrus is a man who is familiar with the disturbing. He ordered experimentation on the Lake Guardians. He wrapped the red chain around his throat like a noose and tied the other end to a soulless, uncaring being. He killed millions with the destruction of his reality. With his own calloused hands and blunt nails, he ended the life of –

Giratina has gone quiet. The endless chatter of sights and sounds and tastes and emotions and _memories_ vanished, leaving his mind deathly silent. Anticipation crawls up the back of his spine like a thousand legged centipede. He’s eight again, sitting outside in the chilly Sinnoh winter, waiting for his parents to pick him up from school, praying to Arceus that they haven’t forgotten him. Fourteen and he arrives home to find a note on the table, informing him that he will be alone for the next week due to the conference a few towns over. Twenty-one and he tells the answering machine that he’s dropping out of Uni to start his own business. Twenty-seven and he stands atop of that snowy mountain peak, eyes searching the heavens for a sign, for God or Satan to appear before him, his conscious as scarlet as the chain he’s slaved over.

Giovanni pauses to drink more tea, regardless of how much he’s grumbled about it already. “What are you thinking, Agaki? You don’t emote; I can never tell what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

Cyrus breathes. “To summarize: You wish to use the Ultra Wormhole to your advantage while simultaneously downgrading this reality to little more than a giant laboratory. That way if anything goes wrong, you won’t risk your home reality being caught in the fallout. Because you are only one person and do not know who to trust, you will target the members of Rainbow Rocket to assist you, being that we also have little to no attachments to this reality and therefore won’t protest its destruction. Additionally, because every member of Rainbow Rocket has already conquered their own homeworld, we understand what is required of us and are all individually capable leaders. This means that you believe you can leave us on our own and expect results. The reason why we will all follow you is because we will take the knowledge we have learned from this experiment and use it to better control our home realities and/or personally become more powerful if/when we return.”

“…I didn’t even say half that stuff.”

“I am excellent at inferring.”

Giovanni nods slowly, weary. “I assure you that the members of Rainbow Rocket will not become throwaway admins, but rather members of an oligarchy of sorts.”

“I have been assured.”

Cyrus isn’t impressed. Giovanni is already scheming under Lusamine’s nose, and while Cyrus doesn’t particularly care about her or her goals, the fact that Giovanni is willing to blatantly disregard the chain of command is telling. Despite being transported to a different reality, Giovanni intends to continue acting as though he is the king of this world.

But to outright reject Giovanni would make an enemy out of the man, and that is the last thing Cyrus needs right now. “I need more time to consider this, and at the moment, you are a single person without any contacts or allies. I cannot join you knowing that it would separate me from Lusamine’s power and protection, not when all you have to offer is the assurance that you will not report me to Interpol. I will keep your plans to myself.”

Giovanni shrugs with one shoulder. “That’s about what I expected. Would have been suspicious if you just accepted at this point. That’s fine. I do have one request, however.” Giovanni leans back in his chair and finishes off his tea. “If you do happen to make a breakthrough researching the Ultra Wormhole or whatever Lusamine has you on, you’ll come to me first.”

It’s a simple request. They weren’t ordered to keep their research quiet, so it wouldn’t break any rules. Giovanni already commented on Cyrus’ lack of results the day before, so he knows not to expect anything from Cyrus.

“And in return?”

“I’ll do the same for you. No reporting to Lusamine until after I’ve spoken to you first.”

A fair truce, though there’s no certainty that anything Giovanni finds will be of use for Cyrus, but that’s not the point. Sharing information means amicable interactions between them, allowing Giovanni more attempts to win Cyrus over. It’s the kind of subterfuge Cyrus didn’t expect out of someone who ruled with an iron fist and was infamous for his cruelty towards both pokemon and minions.

“Your proposal is acceptable.” For now. The moment Giovanni begins demanding things from Cyrus, Cyrus will deal with it.

“Fantastic.” Giovanni holds out a hand and they shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. inderlude (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thoughts of mars

Cyrus takes to wandering the Paradise during the day, clearing his mind better than any form of meditation. He was originally assigned to determining if Ultra Wormhole activity coincided with the movement of the heavens. Five weeks into his investigations and Lusamine has already pulled him from the study and banished him to the basement of the manmade island to search the storage area for archives, books, research, loose papers, and anything else that might hold information the grunts missed.

Apparently, five weeks is more than enough time to conduct an experiment based upon something he A) has no control over B) is random and C) cannot be predicted.

Lusamine’s machine capable of opening an Ultra Wormhole on command is incredible. Wild wormholes, however, are random, sporadic, unpredictable, and almost always on the far side of the island chain, too far away for Cyrus to reach for the sake of observation before the wormhole blinks out of existence.

Cyrus can’t imagine what it must be like to be the scientists assigned to the case full-time. Science takes time. Cyrus spent _years_ working with Galactic until he felt comfortable enough to allow experimentation. Lusamine can’t even wait six weeks before giving up on Cyrus’ theory.

So he walks, because he’s frustrated with himself for not immediately finding the answer he seeks and at Lusamine for giving up on him and at Giovanni for distracting him with Rainbow Rocket.

He misses his team. He misses Mars and how she knew nothing. Her naïve outlook on life was like a breath of fresh air. She always had an endless supply of questions that Cyrus grew to appreciate. During the worst days, when Interpol began poking their nose into their activities of Galactic or they were unable to pay off the utility bills or a piece of code broke, when Cyrus lost himself in grief and rage, Mars would sit on the ground and lean against his desk and ask.

Why? Why does Jupiter leave them every weekend? Why does Saturn sleep in the labs instead of the dorms? Why does Cyrus have a picture of the League Champion on his desk? Why was she always sent out to explore the cave systems? Why was it so difficult to sell their solar panels?

And Cyrus would turn away from his desk, away from Mars, and stare out his window at the twinkling lights of the city below. He would speak. Everything and anything that came to mind. Light pollution and why the stars that once brightened the night sky now remain dim. Arceus and the creation of the universe, Giratina and the Other Place it resides in. Earth and why it allows for life when every other planet for hundreds of light-years away are barren.

He only stopped once his voice grew hoarse from use and Mars slumped against the hard ground, snoring softly.

**she hums an unfamiliar tune, hips swaying as she dances across the kitchen, chopsticks in her hand clicking at the purugly that lazily bats at it with an unfortunately small paw, and she turns and tosses her fiery hair over her shoulder, longer than he’s ever seen it, and she smiles like the sun as the doorbell rings**

She’s still alive here. Mars and Saturn and Jupiter, they’re all out in the world, only a phone call away.

Cyrus closes his eyes and leans against the bars separating the pathway from pokemon habitats. “ _Thank you_ ,” he whispers as another vision washes over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: an actual arc!


	9. lusamine's spawn No. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trumbeak and gladion and guzma oh my!

“I do not know what you want,” Cyrus hisses, narrowing his eyes with his most impressive glare. A single bullet seed hits him in the center of his forehead with perfect, deadly accuracy. It’s the third attack in the last few minutes. If the trumbeak has the skill link ability, he’ll have to suffer through two more bullet seeds before the bird has to restock on ammo.

Cyrus is of average height, but he needs to stand up on the tips of his boots to reach the top of the shelf. He holds his hand in a fist, palm-down and steady. As soon as his knuckle taps the dull talons gripping the edge of the shelf, he earns another attack.

“Stupid bird,” he seethes, forcing his tone to remain a whisper so he doesn’t frighten off the pokemon. “Can’t you tell I’m tryin’ to help you? How’d you even get down here?” It’s a pain for him, a human, to navigate the anti-pokemon sliding doors and clean white hallways. He required an Aether grunt to guide him down to the storage facility for over a week before he memorized the path.

The trumbeak wasn’t here yesterday, unless Cyrus somehow missed the colorful, noisy, half-meter tall bird hopping around.

Cyrus drops his hand and falls to his feet. This isn’t working. He has nothing against flying types, but they tend to be _twitchy_ and _distracting_. The last thing he needs is to be distracted while translating the stack of journals and diaries he found. The process is already agonizingly slow thanks to poor handwriting and the uniqueness of the traditional Alolan language.

The bird sings out a bubbly, bouncy, xylophone-like laughter. Or, he interprets it to be amusement. He’s unfamiliar with the species and this individual.

Giovanni’s persian is quick and nimble. It could chase the damn bird out of the room. Or kill it. Cyrus doesn’t particularly care either way. A shame that he’d owe Giovanni a favor afterward, otherwise he might actually consider it.

“Please. There is food in the Paradise. Go bother someone else.”

“Hey, you.”

Cyrus blinks at the bird. Did it just speak? The trumbeak fluffs up its feathers.

Cyrus turns around. A young adult with blonde hair in a style Mars would call ‘goth’ stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his torn black hoodie that matches his torn black pants. The kid doesn’t have a visitor pass visible on him, nor does Cyrus recognize him as any of the Aether members. A burglar, then?

Cyrus doesn’t particularly care if that’s the case, but it would be unfortunate if Aether secrets fell into the wrong hands. He already considers Lusamine to be a threat, but his (temporary) position within Aether allows him to monitor the situation.

“…Do you require assistance?” He attempts a smile. The kid gives him an odd look.

The kid slides what appears to be a keycard out of his back pocket and wobbles it in the air. “’S not working. Must have gotten too close to magnets or something. I need to get into one of the back rooms.”

Only industrial magnets would cause that sort of damage. Not suspicious at all.

Cyrus casts a look up at the trumbeak. It tilts is head. “Alright. But you should speak to someone about getting a replacement key card as soon as possible so this does not happen again.” He stows away his work notebook and pen into one of the excess pockets in his uniform.

Just as he straightens himself up and steps towards the door, a large, feathery mass slams into the back of his head. Cyrus freezes as the trumbeak scrambles to find somewhere to grip, talons raking along the back of his neck and wings pounding against his ears in aborted flight. It settles on his right shoulder and toots out a song.

Of course, _now_ the damn’ed bird wants to leave the room. Fine. He’ll hand it off to an Aether grunt once he finishes his task.

The boy is waiting for Cyrus at the far corner of the hallway, back against the wall and hands stuffed into his pockets. Without a word, he pushes off the wall and leads Cyrus through the labyrinth until they come across a door with a plaque reading: _Null_.

Cyrus fishes out his keycard and taps it against the reader. It blinks green twice and the door slides open. The boy walks in. Cyrus stays out, but he does poke in his head to survey the scene.

The room is a little less than 10x10 meters. Dusty mechanical equipment lines the walls, most of which Cyrus doesn’t recognize. He memorizes the shapes in case they come up again. Besides that, the room appears to now be used for storage. The boy rifles through box after box, shifting the stacks around as he searches. A glance at his face reveals his state of mind. His pale eyebrows furrow together into a single blonde line. His teeth gnaw into the bottom of his lip.

Trumbeak ruffles its feathers with a huff and the boy twists and glares at Cyrus as though he’s at fault. The expression in addition to blonde hair and blue eyes is reminiscent of Lusamine’s sharp disapproval and disgust.

Huh. Well, it isn’t a secret that Lusamine has children. He just hadn’t expected them to look so similar, only younger and shorter and _unlikely to stab someone with a stiletto_. It’s like looking at the awkward middle evolution of the garchomp line, only in human form and less murderous.

The boy closes the boxes and returns them to their original position. He shoves his way past Cyrus and into the hallway. Cyrus closes the door, briefly wondering if the security system records who locks and unlocks doors, but then the bird squawks and he realizes that the kid is wandering away without a word.

Cyrus follows, only partly due to not knowing how to return to his research area/storage room. They get all the way to the ground (sea level?) floor before the kid speaks.

Blue eyes pierce into him, but the burning rage of a rebellious teenager is nothing compared to what Cyrus has witnessed in his thirty-six (twenty-seven?) years. The kid is the first to break eye contact with Cyrus and he pulls out a pokeball to stare it at instead. “You’re not Aether, are you? They wouldn’t let me just walk around without supervision, let alone allow me into _that_ room.” His lips thin. “Then again, no simple grunt would have that kind of access.”

Cyrus shrugs with his free shoulder. He hasn’t exactly wandered around the Paradise, swiping his keycard at every door. He was told originally that all members of Rainbow Rocket had limited access so they could enter their own rooms, the break rooms, the Paradise, and a few labs. When his orders changed and he was sent to the bowls of the Paradise to chase myths, security granted him access to the storages.

And as for not being Aether, well… Cyrus isn’t even part of Galactic anymore. He obliterated his own people without looking back; he doesn’t deserve the title. The Galactic of this reality has survived nine long years without a Cyrus to drive them into the ground.

“Does it matter? Whether I’m Aether or not?”

The boy considers Cyrus again. He opens his mouth but is interrupted.

“Yo Gladion! Thought we’re meetin’ at –“ Across a pokemon habitat, a man shouts at them. Everyone in the room, including a few Aether grunts, turn towards the noise. The man freezes and drops his hand mid-wave. He hunches his back, not unlike the boy, Gladion, and tugs his hoodie hood over his head to conceal his bleached hair and yellow sunglasses. The man mumbles, “Sorry, sorry. Yikes.”

“Guz-“ Gladion stops himself and glances at Cyrus.

Guzma reaches them. “Chill kid, we’ve met. The hell are you two doin’? Having a battle in the middle of Paradise is a great way of gettin’ noticed.” Gladion grimaces and pockets his pokeball. “Good, that’s better. Is the Spaceman bothering you?”

“Him? Nah. He helped me get into Null’s room. Didn’t find anything; she already had everything moved. Have you called the pager yet?”

“Sure have. Meet me at the docks, I gotta talk to Spaceman here first.”

Gladion scampers off without another word. He keeps his head down and walks around Aether grunts.

When Cyrus turns back to Guzma, he’s scrounging through deep pockets. He pulls out a clear bag filled with colorful bits and shoves it into Cyrus’ chest. Trumbeak squawks as Cyrus stumbles back, its wings held out behind his head like a strange hat. “Here. Thanks for watchin’ over the brat ‘n shit. Feed your goddamn pokemon. Yeah, you heard me.” Guzma gestures wildly with his free hand. “I know you haven’t been pickin’ up any pokefeed rations since you and the other aliens got here. Heard you were a nutjob, but you better not be starvin’ or abusin’ your partners.” Guzma snarls at Cyrus and steps away, then heads in the direction Gladion went.

Cyrus looks down at the bag in his hand. Opens it. Pulls out a blue, squishy heart that looks like the pokebeans he’s heard about in passing. Trumbeak hums and clicks its beak. Cyrus holds the bean above his head and Trumbeak snips it from his fingers.

Eight weeks in this reality, and Guzma is the first to mention Cyrus’ team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey take a break and look up the song of the oropendola  
> hearing one in person is such a magical experience. I'm convinced trumbeak's call is based upon the oropendola (even if their designs aren't similar)


	10. bean friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pokebeans attract a strange intruder

Cyrus awakens to a sound. He opens his eyes and blinks twice up at the patterns in the ceiling, the dim light from the shared dorm hallway filtering in through the bottom of his door allowing him to see in the darkness of the night. He turns his head towards the door, listening. On occasion, someone will get up early and cause a ruckus or excited pokemon on the loose will barrel down the hallway. Giovanni’s smooth voice soothing his persian as they walk side-by-side. Maxie and Archie’s Mightyena barking and chasing tails as their owners hiss for quiet and blame each other. Ghetsis, silent like a wraith except for the rhythmic tapping of his staff. Lysandre mumbling as he proceeds to take over the bathroom and beautify himself.

Tonight – or this morning; Cyrus is too groggy to tell – no shadows move across his door. Hm.

He settles again, back straight against his provided futon and head cushioned on a thin pillow. The Alolan heat never vanishes once the sun sleeps, and so he quickly banished the duvet into the closet after the second night in this reality. Cyrus has no need for any blankets. His pajamas provide enough warmth to remain comfortable.

His eyes close and his breath evens out. Not two minutes later, the noise repeats. Cyrus is more alert this time and prepared to twist away from the door, towards his single window. A dark, shadowed figure sits on the small desk in the corner of the room. Not a human, but still a perceived threat.

Cyrus reminds himself that he’s defenseless unless Giratina involves itself. He’s a scrawny, weak human, alone in the dark with only his dulled primal instincts to protect him. Damn. Maybe he should have allowed that annoying trumbeak to move into his room.

Plastic, he finally recognizes, crinkles. The figure shifts and huffs.

…Pokebeans. Cyrus left the bag of pokebeans Guzma forced upon him on the small table, under an Aether-issued jacket to prevent any wandering pokemon from pilfering it. It clearly was not successful.

The pokemon appears to be distracted. He sits up and it makes no move to attack him. Cyrus slowly stands, makes his way over to the door, and flicks the energy-efficient fluorescent lights on.

Large yellow eyes gleam under a red gem upon a cyan head. Tiny paws and twin tails. It calls out to him.

 _Valor_.

Cyrus recoils at the sight, his back smacking into the wall. He grasps the doorknob by instinct alone. It requires all of his strength to not throw open the door and make an escape.

Giratina stirs within him, attracted by the sudden commotion. The reminder of the being calms Cyrus. In the Other Place, Giratina tore through flesh and sinew and soul, opening Cyrus bare and empty as every moment of existence, every thought and action and regret, painted the endless inky skies. It saw him, both the Cyrus he created and the Cyrus he is incapable of shedding, and it judged him with red eyes and razor claws and unwavering apathy.

Giratina understood and did nothing, but that is within its nature. Azelf, however, when united with its other parts, can cause even the Gods to cower.

/

Cyrus has an unspoken question for the other members of Rainbow Rocket: Why stay in this reality?

Giovanni has opened himself to Cyrus. For him, this is another business proposal, another operation to conquer. He will press this reality to the breaking point before returning to the safety of his home.

Maxie, despite his stiff interactions, cannot hide the expressions of longing he casts upon Archie and the mysterious sixth pokeball that he never calls upon. The flame that once burned within is snuffed. Maxie runs from the horrors he crafted with his own two hands.

And Cyrus? Unlike the others, he does not require Lusamine’s machine to return to his original reality. He can leave at any time and be reunited with his perfect world. So why remain? Why stay here and suffer along with every other unfortunate soul born, or forcibly brought, in this wretched place?

The answer that comes to mind leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Humans are inherently social. They wither and waste away when separated from others of their species.

And nine years, nine years that might have passed in an hour or an eon, is a long time to go without contacting another human.

There’s more to his complex emotions that he’d rather not touch upon at this moment. So he gazes upon the legendary that has tracked across the world.

Azelf grasps the plastic bag in its tiny hands and pulls, unaware of the zipper that could easily release the treats. It blinks and makes a sad, wobbly whining noise.

…The lake guardian, capable of rendering all willpower from anyone who intrudes upon the sacred lands, powerless against modern technology.

Cyrus walks over and unzips the bag without removing it from Azelf’s paws. Colorful pokebeans topple out of the plastic container and onto the desk. Cyrus perches cross-legged on his futon. Azelf drops the bag and picks up a blue bean, a shade off of its body coloring.

“ _Valor_ ,” He speaks, “Those are not berries. Or poffins,” because Cyrus has no doubt that Dawn attempts to give rich poffins to every legendary and mythical she comes across.

Azelf considers him, then shoves the entire bean into its mouth. It chews. Swallows. Chooses a rainbow-colored bean next, the ones trumbeak is fond of, and eats it as well.

Cyrus watches as it devours through half his stock, waiting for Azelf to turn on him and strike him dead. It does not. Once it is satisfied, it hefts itself to its feet and beings levitating. It chimes once, and then-

Teleports away. As though it didn’t awaken him before dawn to steal his beans.

Giratina’s interest dims and its presence fades.

Cyrus remains staring at the scattered pokebeans until long after the other members of Rainbow Rocket begin moving for the day’s activities.


	11. of mythos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another meeting with giovanni. More details of Cyrus' current activities.

“Sakaki, I am in need of funds.”

Giovanni pulls down his reading glasses and squints up at Cyrus. “It’s 3 am. How the fuck did you find me?”

Cyrus points up at the trumbeak preening his hair. “It woke me once you began moving and I followed you here.” After taking a detour to pick up a few things first, once he was certain Giovanni wouldn’t wander off.

“Sit.” Giovanni gestures at a rolling computer chair beside his own. Cyrus does so. “Normally, people try to make small talk first before requesting something like that. Ya know, butter me up, grovel a bit. Then ask for money.”

“Sakaki-dono, I am in need of your assistance,” Cyrus says with a flat tone.

“Don’t sass me, boy.” Giovanni’s lips twitch in amusement, but the persian at his feet raises his head and snarls. Cyrus blinks down at it. In the eight weeks he’s known Giovanni, persian has only presented a smug attitude. Even when Giovanni’s stuck dealing with Ghetsis during Rainbow Rocket (plus Lusamine) meetings, persian has only ever huffed before returning to a cat nap.

Much like wevile, it reads its master’s emotions better than any human ever could. Cyrus bows his head to the furious pokemon. “My apologies, I did not mean to offend you.” He pulls a pokebean out of his pocket, one he intended to use to bribe trumbeak if necessary, and offers it to persian. The cat yowls in delight, nipping Cyrus’ offered fingers as it bites the pokebean. It purrs and rubs against his leg before returning to Giovanni’s feet. The white cloth of the Aether-issued uniform is now covered with a thick layer of blonde fur.

…Disgusting.

He turns to Giovanni. Cyrus isn’t familiar with working with people who aren’t his admins. They always followed his every command without question, their belief in him never faltering. Giovanni, on the other hand, has no reason to trust Cyrus, and as a fellow team leader, he is unlikely to bend to the whims of another.

This requires a calculated risk. He will offer the only thing he has: information.

Cyrus breathes in, adapts his method, and tries again. “Are you aware of what Lusamine has me doing?”

“Last we spoke, you said it was a wild yungoos chase.”

“Yes. She wants me to connect Alolan myth to what we know today about the Ultra Wormhole and Ultra Beasts. In the storage areas of the Paradise, I have found records of information that other Aether employees have collected in addition to journals and first-hand accounts of the native people living in Alola before recent colonization.”

Giovanni crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Something tells me your assignment is much more complicated than it sounds.” He’s taking the bait.

“Indeed. To begin with, everything is on paper and has yet to be digitalized. What the grunts have gathered are stories filled with holes; I suspect they simply recorded what was told to them by the first person willing to talk rather than putting in the effort necessary to find reliable sources. The pieces I am more inclined to trust are written in the native Alolan tongue. I have begun translating, but there are many cultural aspects, metaphors, and references that I am incapable of comprehending from just using a dictionary.”

Cyrus pauses, giving Giovanni time to process. “The materials I am currently using are inadequate. I have spoken to Branch Chief Faba regarding allowing me to go mainland so that I may retrieve updated materials and speak with the locals. His answer was…” Cyrus wrinkles his nose in a distasteful way, the only emotion he’s shown Giovanni thus far. Humans prefer to be reminded they are speaking with another human, as Jupiter would say.

“Absolute tauros-shit?”

“Unsatisfactory,” Cyrus confirms. “He seems to be under the impression that the members of Rainbow Rocket are only here to be acting bodyguards for himself and Lusamine.” Giovanni snorts, either at the concept of being reduced to a bodyguard or at the suggestion that Lusamine of all people can’t protect herself.

“And so this is where I come in.”

“Yes. Without Aether to provide resources, it is unlikely that I will be able to make any substantial progress in my search. I personally do not have any money, and while I am certain that I can still tap into Galactic Enterprise, someone will notice.” Giovanni might be prepared to join the old gang for some fun, but Cyrus needs to stay off Saturn’s radar.

“Let me guess. You’re not the type to crush kids with level ten bug types to earn some quick cash, are you?” Cyrus doesn’t even bother answering that. “I’ll admit, I have what you need. And if you had accepted my proposal in joining me to evolve Rainbow Rocket, I’d be more inclined to help you out. But you didn’t.” Giovanni shrugs in a what-can-you-do way.

That wasn’t a complete dismissal. Cyrus remains rigid in his chair, waiting for Giovanni to realize that he will not react with anger or desperation. Cyrus never agreed to help Lusamine; he’s only doing what comes naturally to him. Chasing myths is… fun. Not in the same way as tearing apart a microwave and rebuilding it to be ten times more powerful sort of way, but it is enjoyable and he has a talent for it. It’s one of the few useless childhood hobbies of his that his parents were unsuccessful at stamping out.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy reading grunt work or translating old journals, but it has kept him intellectually involved these past few weeks. The fact that the Aether admin suspect Cyrus won’t actually make any discoveries means that no one is looking over his shoulder or demanding progress.

Giovanni sighs when he doesn’t get a rise out of Cyrus. “Damn, you really aren’t any fun. Did you predict this entire conversation with your weird robot mind of yours? Fine, I’ll bite. Why should I care about any of that,” he waves a hand, “because to me, it sounds like a bunch of useless nonsense that you’re wasting your time with.”

“Perhaps it is a waste of time. Many would say the same thing regarding searching for a sample of DNA from a Mew.” Cyrus counters. It’s satisfying to watch Giovanni’s relaxed façade drop as he narrows his eyes at Cyrus. Within an instant, Giovanni is chuckling as though this is an amusing game. Persian stares at Cyrus without blinking.

He continues, aware that he has Giovanni’s full attention. “Alola was settled between a thousand and a thousand five-hundred years ago. Do you truly believe that, during that time, no one has ever attempted to access the power of the Ultra Wormholes?” Cyrus leans forward and steeples his fingers. “Alolan myths tell of how dangerous the wormholes are. That they should be treated with caution. That behind it lurks a monster of unmeasurable power. Sinnoh myths spoke similarly of the Parallel World.”

“And were they true?” Giovanni doesn’t know because Cyrus has never spoken to anyone about his time in the Other Place. Even Lusamine and her army of spies were unable to dig up any information about it.

Only three people in living history entered Giratina’s realm, and only two returned to tell the tale. Neither of whom were likely to ever speak of what they witnessed.

Even Cyrus doesn’t know what happened in this reality. He alone entered the Other Place in his own reality.

“Looking back upon what I remember, it is stunning how accurate Sinnoh myths were. There were differences from what I experienced and what I researched, but I was also the first to ever have such… contact with the Master of the Distortion. I suspect that there will be connections between Alolan myths and the Ultra Wormhole.”

Giovanni sighs and bends over to pull persian into his lap. The cat doesn’t fit, but neither does it seem to mind. “It truly is a shame that you won’t accept my offer. You would make the most excellent ally. I’m interested in what you may dig up, and while I still wish I had your loyalty, I recognize that it may be too soon for you. On the condition that you will report to me first with your findings, I will support you.”

“I have already agreed to these terms.”

“So you have.” Giovanni pulls a wallet out of the breast pocket of his tacky Alolan shirt. He shuffles through some bills, hands them over to Cyrus.

Cyrus raises an eyebrow at the amount that Giovanni can just hand over without blinking. One hundred thousand poke? Absurd. Cyrus returns ninety thousand. “This will be sufficient at the moment, thank you.”

Giovanni scoffs. “No one has ever returned free money to me before.”

“There is always a price, and I do not wish to be even more indebted to you.”

“I’ll try to not be offended by that.”

“Please do try. Thank you again.” Cyrus stands and gives a short bow, upsetting the trumbeak perched upon his shoulder. It smacks him in the head with a wing. He returns his seat to its original position.

Cyrus reaches the door when Giovanni calls to him. “Akagi. One more moment, please.” Cyrus turns to him. “I expect that you will keep this conversation, and the situation we find ourselves in, to yourself?”

Cyrus glances at the computer Giovanni sits at. The screen has yet to fall asleep, and so he can see complex diagrams zigzagging across it. “Of course, Sakaki, just as I have requested you keep our previous late-night meeting a secret.”

Giovanni begins snickering. Cyrus flees before he can be dragged into another conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, giovanni was supposed to just crack a joke about being cyrus’ sugar daddy and hand over some cash, but he proved to be more difficult than expected.
> 
> -dono (like m'lord) is an honorific not often used in conversations, but Cyrus is just Like That. he really wasn't trying to be sassy, he just has a very dry sense of humor lol 
> 
> going off of poke = yen, so Gio offered 1k usd and cyrus only took 100 usd.


	12. a dip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> step 2 of plan: locate existence of tracking device.

Funds: acquired.

Cyrus was concerned that catching Giovanni alone and convincing him would be the most difficult part of his plan. Based upon the rumors he heard in his original reality and details of Lusamine’s files, he expected Giovanni to be as slippery as a barboach. He spent years making good with the Kanto League, pretending to be a generous gym leader while building up the town around him into a fortress. He juggled leading Team Rocket while simultaneously studying pokemon DNA and managing a task force studying cloning.

Giovanni’s renowned strength and notorious cruelty were the foundations Cyrus used to design Galactic.

The fact that Giovanni has only asked for transparency is suspicious. He may have gone soft with age, but according to Maxie, who heard from Archie, the man spends two hours in the Aether gym every day, training both his pokemon and his physical body. Giovanni, for all that he dresses like he’s on a vacation with tacky sunglasses and Alolan shirt, is prepared. For what, Cyrus isn’t certain, but it’s the only outcome he can consider, unless Giovanni happens to be one of those strange people who get enjoyment from working out.

Other options regarding this situation include Giovanni not deeming Cyrus a threat and therefore not worth the effort to deter, or desperation forcing Giovanni to keep potential allies close.

If Jupiter was here, she would provide better suggestions. She was the one Cyrus trusted whenever he was incapable of comprehending the desires and intentions of clients, underlings, and enemies. Jupiter was the one who found Saturn and Mars and brought them into Cyrus’ fold. Without her, Galactic would only be Cyrus and Charon, not an organization but two unhappy people filled with rage.

Cyrus is alone. He understands that he will never be able to pick apart Giovanni’s motivations so he doesn’t bother trying. It would waste his time and cause unnecessary stress. No point in second-guessing his decision, not when he has already accepted Giovanni’s assistance.

The next step in visiting the mainland is ensuring there is no tracking device in his body.

Perhaps this is more science-fiction than actuality, but Cyrus remembers being forced into a sleep-like state not long after entering Alola. Wicke insisted that it was just for medical check-ups to ensure they were all in good health and not experiencing side effects. If Cyrus was in their position, he would stick his very valuable assets with implants so they can never escape him.

In the privacy of his dorm room (after already searching for any listening bugs or tiny cameras), he strips and prods his skin. He notes two new moles on the small of his back. They feel round to the tip of his finger. Benign, he assumes.

Eight weeks into his stay at Paradise, any surgical scars have already healed over. Even the large, persistent bruise in the crux of his elbow, a product of needles drawing blood, have vanished. He should have thought to check earlier. Running his hands over every inch of skin he can reach, feeling for bumps beneath the surface, also yields no results.

Cyrus opts to not use the community bathroom’s mirror to view the expanse of his back. He’s planning an experiment, anyway.

At midnight, Cyrus slips out of his room, trumbeak dozing on his shoulder. He navigates his way through the dim hallways in socks to ensure silence. Despite the hour, some Aether grunts are still working to tend to injured pokemon’s needs or performing other duties. He takes alternative pathways when he can to avoid them. When that isn’t possible, he keeps his back straight, eyes forward, and expression stoic. No one stops to question him.

He reaches the docks without any problems. Cyrus gently pets trumbeak awake and sets it down on the metal paneling, thankfully drained of the sun’s searing heat. “Do you remember what I asked of you?”

Trumbeak blinks. With a chirp, it turns to the Paradise behind them and sits. Cyrus lacks a trainer’s bond with the pokemon and there is no guarantee it will be useful, but he brought it along and told it his plans so it will keep quiet and not cause a fuss.

Cyrus removes and folds all of his clothes. He experiences the sudden shame of being indecent in public, one of the social taboo drilled into him as soon as he was capable of undressing himself as a child. But this is a necessity if he is to return back to his room without being suspiciously wet.

As he lowers himself off the edge of the dock and into the water, Cyrus realizes that he could have brought a towel with him. Or a second pair of clothes. Or he could have left his undergarments on in the water, and replaced them with his shirt and slacks once he got out. He didn’t think this through at all.

All exhaustion and fatigue wash away as he submerges into the ocean. Cyrus latches onto the closest pile, avoiding the tiny juvenile shellder and binacle glued onto the metal, and guides himself around until he’s underneath the dock, completely out of view.

If there is a tracking device in him, this position will be suspicious enough to warrant someone checking on him. And if he can’t be seen from the Paradise, someone will be in trouble. GPS’ are mistaken all the time. Cyrus could be washed away, miles off before anyone notices he’s gone.

Trumbeak coos, only just loud enough to hear over the slapping of the calm waves.

“I’m still here. Please remain awake and keep watch for me.” He finds a few sturdy, dull shellder he can cling to without the risk of slicing his hands.

Cyrus closes his eyes and concentrates on his connection with Giratina.

_[Are you with me?]_

**a rumbling as the great mountain stirs within, a hiss of smoke as a fissure cracks between newborn rock, sulfur and the stench of thick heat wafts in the air for a fraction of a moment before chilled rushing air drags it away, off into the unknown.**

Cyrus sighs and adjusts his grip. _[I wish to see.]_ Anything to distract him from the cold and salt.

Giratina rumbles a purr. Tonight, it is amiable of Cyrus’ request. As another wave of salt and carbonic acid slides over his chilled skin, he slips into another vision, one filled with the thick wintergreens and powdered snow of his homeland.


	13. lost

Cyrus haunts the Lost & Found box for days, peaking at its contents on his way to the cafeteria for his morning and evening tea. Familiar with incompetent grunts, the multitude of misplaced standard-issued hats and water bottles comes at no shock. Nor is the occasional shoe, notebook, lunch box, hand-held music listening device, bag of pokebeans, or book on native flora and fauna. Useless, all of it.

(Cyrus snatches the pokebeans after a particularly painful drill peck to the temple.)

Over a steaming hot mug of tea, halfheartedly listening into the gossiping Aether grunts surrounding him in the cafeteria, Cyrus muses that it’s almost impressive he has yet to wander upon important or expensive equipment. Cyrus isn’t one for petty thievery, but he might resort to it for this instance.

He needs a ride pager to get off the Paradise without alerting anyone of his movements. Hitching a ride on one of the many boats that come and go from the docks is a possibility, but Cyrus would risk being caught before reaching any of the Alolan islands and he would be at the mercy of transportation schedules when he wished to return to the Paradise. A flying pokemon would also suffice, but he would either have to take one of the recovering wild pokemon, untrained and unbonded, or ask for help from a grunt. And grunts gossip, so anything he says or does around one will soon be known by all.

Giratina stirs within him and Cyrus mentally waves it away. He’s already considered calling on a favor from Giratina, and while suspects the being would be willing, summoning it into this reality has its own risks. With the exception of a few very specific locations, Giratina is barred from the physical realm. Only the power of Time and Space can sever the barrier between reality and the Parallel World.

Well. That was before Giratina bonded with a human. Even now, in the relative safety of the Paradise, Cyrus can feel the burden of the Red Chain, strangling and suffocating. It is within him, flowing through his veins and jingling with every ragged breath he takes. As long as Cyrus exists, Giratina will have a metaphorical open doorway to the physical world.

The last time Cyrus called upon Giratina, two billion people were eradicated without a second thought.

So no, Cyrus will not use Giratina for a task as mundane as transportation, even if it would be convenient.

Using a page rider is the best option. Aether doesn’t have control over page riders; therefore, they would not have access to the metadata compiled if Cyrus got his hands on one. He could come and go from the Paradise and only have to concern himself with not being seen and not being missed.

Cyrus dutifully goes about his day. Check the Lost & Found. Drink morning tea while listening to gaggling and giggling. Head down to the stuffy storage rooms and spend hours hunched over faded texts, eyes straining in the low light to prevent further damage to the bound pages. Lunch with trumbeak back up on the main floor, sometimes with Maxie and Archie if they catch him. Back down to his joke of a lab. Back up an hour before dusk in search of dinner. Post-dinner tea, sometimes with Giovanni if the man is feeling particularly nosy. Check the Lost & Found again. Return to his barren room, write in his journal, sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

Cyrus has a mission. Forget the task Lusamine assigned; Cyrus _aches_ for freedom. He misses dirt under his nails and sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he climbs rugged terrain. He misses talking to old men about the ‘good ol’ days’ before cities sprung from the ground like weeds and he misses being dragged into houses by old ladies for tea.

There is a completeness in following a routine. It tethers Cyrus to this reality; preventing him from drifting away into the unknown. Following a set list of daily activities kept him alive throughout his childhood when Cyrus had yet to find efficient escape methods. Instead, burying himself into a mind-numbing routine allowed him to remain within the strict confines of his parent’s rules.

But this simple repetition can only last for so long before the peace inevitably shatters. As enjoyable the slog of work is, Cyrus didn’t return to the physical plane just to fade into obscurity. He has shit to do, many of which cannot be completed while buried within the bowels of Paradise.

Laying on his small, flat futon within his small, dark bedroom, Cyrus decides he’s spent long enough waiting for a ride pager to fall into his palms. On the dawn of his ninth week in this reality, Cyrus will act.


	14. & found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> end of interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that pokedirect tho

Declaring action is easier said than done.

Fully prepared to snoop through the grunt barracks, Cyrus abandons his “”lab”” (aka basement storage room) not long after the end of the breakfast rush. Based on his observations the last few weeks, the majority of the Aether workforce flies off to the islands or begins morning chores around 08:00 local time, leaving the bunkrooms empty except for grunts with the day off or anyone scheduled to clean the lower floors.

The first room he comes across doesn’t require an ID badge to access; an oversight in his opinion, considering the lack of security preventing anyone from just entering and messing with people’s shit.

It’s empty of humans and pokemon, so Cyrus messes with people’s shit. He swallows down the obligatory guilt at breaking the taboo of “Ye Shalt Not Snoop” but this is _necessary_ for his personal progression. Cyrus alleviates some of the stress by swearing to himself that he won’t go through any suitcases or drawers, where he suspects personal property is hidden away. Instead, he searches under pillows, on top of blankets, and on any flat surfaces such as bedside tables. Cyrus also goes to every easily-accessible power outlet in the room to see if any electronics are charging.

Despite limiting his search radius for the sake of privacy, Cyrus still finds a wide array of embarrassing items. Some grunts are absolute slobs and don’t make their bed in the morning or leave their nightclothes on their bed for the world (Cyrus/their roommates) to see. He flips a journal to a random page and flushes red at the inappropriate content memorialized in written word. He finds a sticky bun under a pillow. Another grunt left a handful of empty ultraballs out. Someone decided it would be a good idea to attach a power strip to another, causing a single outlet to have over twenty chargers attached.

Cyrus unplugs every single one with vindictive horror. And he takes a power strip with him, just to prevent a potential fire-safety accident. He’ll find a better, more useful, purpose for it.

Progression is slow. Cyrus gets distracted by science and technical textbooks at multiple points. He makes note of their names in his journal before forcibly tearing himself away from the promise of knowledge. He doesn’t lag, in fear of being caught red-handed snooping. Grunts aren’t known for causing a fuss when disgruntled, but Cyrus isn’t a team leader. He isn’t even an admin. He’s not one of them.

After searching four bunkrooms without success, Cyrus sighs and enters the last in the hall. This will be it; he needs to head down to work. If he doesn’t find the ride pager today, then there will always be tomorrow and the next day and the next.

This is the repetition of Cyrus’ life. Dedication to small, simple steps as he works his way through the bigger picture.

The door jams. Cyrus has to jiggle the knob and lift up on it to pry the door open. He huffs and shakes his head in amusement as it finally reveals another standard bunkroom. Despite the technological advances in Lusamine’s Paradise, the bowels of the faux island still rely on wooden boards and metal hinges. How _common_.

Cyrus enters, idly flicking on the lights. Upon his first scan of the room, nothing stands out. The residents are tidy, the bunks are all made with few wrinkles. No items litter the floor and there’s no trash collecting on bedside tables.

And then he sees it. A small, rectangular box with rounded edges the size of a large smartphone. The ride pager is identical to what Cyrus has seen Aether grunts using, clashing lime green color included. Cyrus turns it on just to see if it is somehow password protected. It isn’t.

Cyrus shoves the ride pager and its charging port into one of his many pockets. He turns off the lights and yanks the door closed. Calmly, back straight with posture perfect, Cyrus leaves the scene of the crime and makes his way deeper into the Paradise.

Cyrus reaches his storage room/laboratory. The room only requires basic access to unlock because there’s nothing worth stealing, so a particularly thoughtful grunt made a two-face sign that sticks to the door. Right now, the sign states, “ **Cyrus is out** ” with a caricature of a trumbeak appearing dejected in the corner. Cyrus flips the sign to, “ **Cyrus is in _(Knock before entering!)_** ” with a drawing of a happy trumbeak. He enters.

As a precaution, Cyrus shoves one of the many, many, _many_ boxes worth of useless grunt records against the door. Doing so causes any invaders to fumble trying to open the door, which will give Cyrus time to hide any incriminating evidence.

Not that he has anything worth hiding. Not that anyone besides Gladion has ever entered the room while Cyrus was working. Not that Giratina wouldn’t warn him if someone with bad intentions was on their way.

But, Galactic was built on the back of paranoia, and Cyrus didn’t survive the subterfuge of Looker and Interpol by leaving his secrets out in the open.

Over the next few hours, Cyrus scrolls through the ride pager’s manual and options, familiarizing himself with all of the components. He changes all of the previous owner’s information, deleting the set email address and entering a phone number that will lead to an automated voicemail box somewhere in Kanto. Cyrus dithers about on the name before ultimately changing it to ‘Sol Lastname.’

Very few people in this reality will connect ‘Sol’ to Galactic, and even then, there are still thousands of ‘Sol’s wandering the world who are unrelated to Galactic.

If the ride pager submits metadata to a database whenever a pokemon is summoned, this should be enough to cover Cyrus’ tracks. It’s suspicious, but not enough to warrant investigation.

He hooks up the ride pager to his newly acquired power strip and shoves both behind a mountain of paperwork for safekeeping. He’ll have to figure out a better hiding spot in his room - perhaps by tearing up the floorboards? – for both the pager and his nearly-filled personal journal. He’ll worry about that after he’s successfully journeyed to the islands.

The rest of the day is spent hunched over five printed maps of Alola – one for each island and the last for the entire region – and planning out all locations of interest based upon his current research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting next chapter will be a more coherent arc


End file.
